


Horror Vacui

by Nemainofthewater



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Chameleon Arch, Crossover, Don't copy to another site, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Manipulation, Memory Issues, RipFic, implied character deaths pre-story, most of the characters don't feature heavily in this, only the first three tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19087309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: This isn’t fair. You’re turning me into you.-Rory Williams, ‘The Girl Who Waited’Horror vacui: Nature abhors a vacuum.





	Horror Vacui

**Author's Note:**

> This is very self-indulgent, but I am being like a hobbit and celebrating my birthday by giving other people gifts.(Haha, joke this is totally a gift for me sorry in advance for the having to read it). No returns, sorry.

His name is Rip Hunter.

 

That’s a lie.

 

His name is Michael Carter.

 

That is also a lie.

 

The truth is that he doesn’t know what his name is. He came into being, as it were, wandering the streets of London with nothing but the clothes on his back. Pretty soon he didn’t even have those. When he was recruited it was a kindness. It was.

 

The truth is, Rip Hunter is a lie. A lie that he lives every single day.

 

It’s insidious.

 

Because, rule number one? He always lies.

 

#

 

_Listen to me carefully. Rory, you brilliant, brilliant person. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. But you have to do this. If you’re watching this, Emergency Protocol 11 has been activated. That means that I’m dead, or about to die. Or worse: that I’m being erased from history. And Rory: listen to me closely, because that absolutely cannot happen. I’m far too intertwined with the timelines: if I cease to exist, or never have existed, the whole of time and space will be destabilised. Before you know it, Time Chasms opening everywhere, dinosaurs on Mars, fish fingers might never have been invented. I’m a meddler me, always have been. Suppose this is what comes of it. Meddling. I knew this fellow in Ancient Greece, decent chap, great at metaphysics, a bit crap at maths. He said horror vacui, nature abhors a vacuum. Rory. Look at me. Remember this, because you’re going to save the Universe._

#

 

Rip Hunter isn’t a hero by any means. In fact, he is the opposite. He lies and cheats and sacrifices others. No matter what he does, he can’t quite get the art of sacrificing himself to stick.

 

Failing to save his family, failing to save them dozens of times, feels like the cherry on top of the cake of his life. Manipulated to be the ultimate cause of his family’s death in 2166. Stopping Vandal Savage is cold comfort. He watches the message over and over: the holographs of Jonas and Miranda play out the same unending dance. He wants to reach onto the message, hold them tightly and never let go. If he’s lucky, or unlucky, he dreams of them when his exhausted body finally succumbs to sleep. In his dreams he’s finally understood what Miranda meant when she gave up on being a Time Master. When he wakes in the cold morning, face wet with tears, to the prospect of another day without them… It’s selfish but he’s glad that they have missions. There’s the only things that keep him going.

 

#

 

_There’s this agency. The Time Masters. Established themselves after Gallifrey fell: they’re in charge of maintaining the timelines. Bit pompous, but what would you expect from an organisation modelling themselves after the Time Lords. Dunno whose idea that was. They’re probably your best bet to find a timeship: if I’ve never existed that means that I never stole the TARDIS. She could stick around: you never can tell with paradoxes. Nasty things. Taste like pears. I hate pears. If she does manage to make it through this, under no circumstances can you let the Time Masters access the TARDIS. I wouldn’t trust them with her._

#

 

He has a pocket watch. He thinks that Miranda gave it to him. Only, no. That’s not right. Because Miranda had commented on it, that first day at the Academy.

 

“A bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?” she had said, gesturing at it.

 

Rip had glanced down in surprise at where he had been fiddling with it absent-mindedly.

 

“I must have picked it up somewhere,” he had said, frowning slightly in confusion.

 

Miranda’s hand had covered his own, stilling the relentless tapping;

 

“I never said I didn’t like it.”

 

#

_Anyway! We’re running out of time. Funny that. For a Time Lord, I’m always running out of time. If you look to your left, you’ll see a machine. It’s got this big, head piece thingy on it. A bit like a hairdresser’s, only not. It’s called a Chameleon Arch, it’ll help with your memories. Get you settled in. Set it for Emergency Protocol 11, everything should be programmed in already. Rory, you brilliant, brilliant man. Rory, this is your choice. You can just walk away now, forget all of this. Let it fade into a distant memory. Whatever you do Rory Pond, it’s the right choice._

#

 

Sometimes he dreams.

 

She’s always there. A loud laugh, bright hair, a hand taking his and dragging him into danger and disaster with a smile on her lips and a spring in her steps. The space between them heavy with things unsaid, love and history and resentment and quiet acceptance. He knows, knows with all of his being, that he would do anything for her. Would rip apart the timelines. Reach into his chest and pluck out his heart, present it to her in all its ragged glory for one minute in her light. Wait as the Universe turned around him, until all things turned to dust, and then wait some more for just a minute more of her smile.

 

Sometimes there’s man. Or who he thinks is a man. Flitting in and out of the dreams with no rhyme or reason. He thinks he hates him. Or he loves him. A quiet ache of responsibility. And grief; such grief that he’s bowled under by it, the emotion like a tidal wave.

 

Sometimes, just sometimes there’s a snippet of something. He can never remember it in the morning, tries frantically to grasp it, but it’s like sand. The more he tries the more it slips away.

 

Explosions. A crack in the universe. Pain. Red hair dull with sweat and blood. A strange metal device rolling from its owner’s limp fingers.

 

Numbness. Apathy. A message. A duty. A choice that wasn’t a choice.

 

And-

 

Pain. As his entire body is restructured, folding in on himself until he’s left, dazed and confused, clothes pooling around him. Running out of the strange box, staring wide-eyed at the strange sights of Victorian London.

 

He doesn’t remember the dreams.

 

But when he wakes up, gasping and drenched in sweat, tears running down his face-

 

Turning away as ripples of shame wrack through his body-

 

He knows that he’s lost everything.

 

#

 

“Truth or Dare.”

 

“Sara, I hardly think this is a proper use of our time-“

 

“Come on man, lighten up. We managed to save time. Again. Surely you can take one evening between aberrations?”

 

Saying no to Ray Palmer is like trying to kick a particularly good-natured puppy. He’ll allow it, but you’ll feel terrible afterwards.

 

“Fine. Truth.”

 

Quick grins exchanged. The sinking feeling that he’s walked into a trap.

 

“Why did you want to become a Time Master?”

 

A blink. Why? Why wouldn’t he? All of his life, before he even knew there was life outside of London, never mind that time travel existed, he had felt a push. A compulsion. To steal from that rich stranger, the one with the metallic device on his belt. To work that bit harder. To steal that ship. A rabid, avid urge to fix the timeline. Because he knows it’s broken. He can always feel the dissonance.

 

Maybe it was the Oculus. The Time Masters controlling his destiny. Dance puppet dance.

 

He is sure that it was the Oculus.

 

So why does he still feel the burning compulsion to fix the timeline even now?

 

In lieu of answering, he takes a shot of the cheap tequila serving as forfeit. He closes his eyes and embraces the burning trail that it leaves behind.

 

#  
  


_You once told me I was making you into me. A man who has to make the hard choices. And you’re wrong. And you were right. Because I’m not making you into anything. You’re so much stronger than you know. And I’m sorry that you have to be. Good bye Pond. And best of luck._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry? If it makes you feel better, the Doctor has probably come up with some clever plan and is even now fighting his way back, Amy by his side. And they're going to find Rip/Rory and unlock his memories: and what's another set of memories between friends? And then they're going to let him know that he's loved. And get to know his new team. And mock him mercilessly about the fact he's really taken the 'be the Doctor' thing so far, including the dramatic coat.  
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
